


in hiding

by jimlafleur



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2033223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimlafleur/pseuds/jimlafleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mission to earth failed. The 100 - or, the 8 that are left - are ordered to go into hiding from the grounders until the rest of their people can come down from the Ark to help them. Though, it’s not as easy as it sounds. </p>
<p>(Very slowburn Bellarke, but stick along and it'll happen eventually!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I watched The Diary of Anne Frank the other day, and this idea came about. 
> 
> Posting the first 2 chapters immediately, the third is written however I will post it once I'm done writing the fourth. I like to have something to post in case I get lazy. :)

“… I believe I owe you all an explanation.” Clarke spoke suddenly, in a voice no more than a whisper, though all of them heard her fine.

“Doubtless, I don’t need to tell you guys what’s happened. I’m sure some of you experienced the harshest parts of these days first-hand. But,” her eyes passed over to Lincoln, who was looking across the room at Octavia, “Others have only heard rumors, some have heard nothing at all.” Octavia had her brother’s arm wrapped over her shoulder. Both siblings watched the floor.

Clarke cleared her throat. She composed herself for only a second, brushing a strand of hair out of her face, before returning her hands to her sides. She had to keep up the façade of the leader, or else the 9 people sitting before her would begin to doubt her more than she doubted herself. Wetting her lips, she began from the beginning.

“The Ark is dying. Up there, they're desperate to relocate. They need to find somewhere safe, somewhere where we can survive more efficiently. That’s why they sent what was a hundred of us down here. We were the ones that were supposed to watch the transition from space to ground.”

She paused. At this point, Lincoln was now looking back up at her.

“They were _expecting_ death. They sent us down here knowing that some of us would die.” A scoff came from the back of the room, coming from the mouth of (unsurprisingly) Bellamy Blake. Clarke decided not to even look at him. She continued with surety. “But they thought radiation would be the sword that slew us. Not survivors… not grounders.” She caught Lincoln’s eyes, for the first time since she began.

“I know some of you blame the Council for getting us into this mess. But, as Raven has said, it’s altogether impossible to perfectly direct a ship to a specific spot on the ground.” Raven nodded from her seat next to Finn. “Remember when Jaha gave us that speech 4 days ago? You probably don't, because half of you were shouting and goofing off while he was giving life-saving information, but I can tell you what he said: he wanted us to go to Mount Weather.”

To her left was a small circular window, and off in the distance stood a peak, tall and singular. Clarke watched it as she spoke. “That’s where we were supposed to land… where we were supposed to build a _new society_.” She emphasized her last words, silently picturing living a domestic life down on the ground. The thought seemed so silly now, after all the chaos they'd already experienced down here. Clarke laughed and shook her head. “Instead, we landed smack dab on Lincoln’s village.”

She paused, breathing in deeply through her nose. Everyone shifted slightly, uncomfortably, but no one spoke a word. Not even Murphy, or Bellamy - but Clarke suspected Bellamy only kept his tongue because Octavia was next to him, a looming threat of a smack hanging on his every move.

“We all had our parts in getting to where we are today.” She locked eyes with each and every person as she spoke them. “Murphy and Bellamy; you valiantly fought the grounders who could’ve annihilated us. Had it not been for you two, there would be 0 of us, not 9. Octavia, Charlotte, and Finn; you three were extraordinarily helpful, and I couldn't have saved Lincoln… couldn't have tried to save Wells…” she unintentionally drifted off, brought back only by a soft kick from Jasper, who was sitting in the front row. “I couldn't have treated the wounded without your assistance and encouragement. Finally, Jasper and Monty; you helped us communicate with the Ark, and ultimately you guys were able to get Raven down here so that she could save our asses from certain human extinction.”

Almost everyone stifled a small laugh, relieved for the sudden humor, and the tension in the room was broken for a few seconds before Clarke’s face grew serious again. Then they quieted and waited for her to continue. “But we aren't saved yet. _We're_ locked up here, and _they're_ down there.”

She paused. This was it. If they didn’t take this well, the upcoming weeks would surely be some of the most dangerous of her whole life. If they _did_ take it well, then… well, the weeks would still be unpleasantly uncomfortable.

“Here’s the gameplan. The Ark can't come down for another 2, maybe 3 weeks. Jaha’s still recovering from being shot, and there’s a bad atmosphere out there. We can't leave this room before they get here, because we're surrounded by grounders in every direction, grounders who would be more than pleased to kill every last one of us. So... so we're going into hiding.”

A number of reactions were heard around the room, the loudest one coming from Murphy. “You've got to be out of your damn mind, Princess, if you think you’re locking us up here for 2 weeks without food or water or weapons or anything.” Next to him, Bellamy clenched his jaw. Clarke couldn't tell yet whether he was willing to proceed with her decision or not, but she continued anyway.

“Listen to me. Lincoln talked with their leader. They're going to establish the first 2 floors of the dropship as a weaponry. Lincoln’s been appointed as the Head of Artillery, which means he'll be here nearly 24/7 to make sure no one goes snooping around.”

“Why should we trust a grounder?” Finn asked from his seat next to Raven.

“Because, with the help of Octavia, I saved Lincoln’s life.” Clarke reminded them. She peered at Lincoln again, who was now playing with a stray strip of clothing from his sleeve. “He owes us a debt. He'll bring us food, water, bedding supplies, whatever we need and whatever he can find.”

“Won't the grounders get a little suspicious about a large, unoccupied third floor?” Monty asked.

“Lincoln will tell them that there’s only junk up here, unusable scraps and damage from the landing. And they'll believe him, because they trust him.” Clarke gave Lincoln a thankful look. “But that doesn't mean we get to be animals up here. For most of the day, we have to be silent. Completely silent. Even the smallest sound could make the grounders suspicious, and suspicion is the last thing we need right now. To help us out, Raven and Lincoln have installed a bell system into the dropship. Whenever a grounder is coming, he'll ring the bell so we hear it up here, and hopefully, we'll shut up.”

She tried looking hopeful. She tried feeling it, too. But the simple fact that they were delinquent teenagers, locked in an unfamiliar surrounding while their dead burned outside, was not comforting. Clarke swallowed her fear for the time being, making sure to hide her doubts and uncertainty. She had to make these people believe that they would be all okay, even if she couldn't convince herself.

“None of us want to do this. But I know you all want to survive, and this is the only way of doing that. If we can all work together and grow some patience, then we can remain. The Ark will save us as soon as they can, but for now we have to save ourselves.”

There was nothing else to say, no more motivational speeches to give. She gave the crowd a final look before turning on her feet, approaching one of the corners of the room. She spoke her final words to them over her shoulder. “Claim your area of residence now. And chose wisely. You'll be staying there for a while.”

The group scattered around the room. Charlotte followed Clarke, and the two decided they would share living spaces. Bellamy pulled Octavia up and immediately claimed her as his roommate. She pulled away from his grasp, but ultimately obliged. Raven and Finn went to another corner of the room, and Monty and Jasper each picked spots close to each other. They claimed that they wanted their own spaces, but they both knew that they would end up combining rooms eventually. Murphy was left to be his own housemate, but he could care less. He chose a spot close to Bellamy and Octavia’s soon-to-be home.

Lincoln stood up and approached the ladder taking him down to the second floor. Before leaving, he addressed them all. “I'll be back with tarps and other supplies to make all of your tents.” He spoke in such a quiet voice that they had to lean forward to hear them. “They won’t be luxurious, but they will provide some privacy.”

_At least we wont have to change in front of each other_ , Clarke thought, before she realized that none of them had anything to change into. They’d be stuck in the same clothes for a long time.

“Clarke, I can bring up some food at around 6:30. Keep an eye on that watch of yours.” Lincoln finished. He tried to give them all a smile before he opened the door. Clarke noticed his eyes linger on Octavia for a bit longer than the rest of them before he slid down and locked the door shut. Then there was silence.


	2. Conquest of Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hundred try to adjust; Bellamy and Murphy make a plan; Clarke helps Charlotte try to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this story is inspired by The Diary of Anne Frank but I put my own twist on it.

The third level was small, but there was still enough room for the delinquents to build all their tents, establish a communications table, and clear a space to keep their supplies. Lincoln brought up bowls of assorted foods including nuts and berries. He also supplied them with branches they could carve into spears, a single bar of soap they could attempt to wash themselves with, and a large bucket of water with cups for each of them. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get by, and Bellamy would certainly rather have some food than no food.

Obviously, Lincoln couldn’t bring up everything at once. So they built their tents slowly throughout the day, tying the tarps to the seats on the wall and making their beds messily beneath the shades. They looked pretty silly from the outside, as tents were meant for the outdoors, but no one was going to complain about a little privacy.

Bellamy still wasn't sure what he thought about the situation, but he followed along anyway. He needed the rest of them to believe he was on their side, otherwise he had no doubt they would throw him out to the grounders to do with him as they wanted. As he finished making what would eventually be Octavia’s bed, he spotted her outside, lounging against the wall. She was locked up once again, as she had been for her whole life.

Guilt filled him as he watched her. Bellamy knew he had to get out of this ship as soon as possible. Once the rest of the people from the Ark came down, he was dead. He got lucky, as the Chancellor had survived his shot and they hadn't found out it was Bellamy who pulled the trigger. But once they discovered that it was in fact him, and once the Ark came down, they would never forgive Bellamy for shooting Jaha. Even if they did, they would never forget his crimes either. He would be stuck doing the same thing he did on the Ark - cleaning up their trash. The society systematized up there did not care about Bellamy Blake; in fact, they probably hated him. Why should anything change once they came down here?

But as the day progressed, and as he watched Octavia mingle with the people he was supposed to trust, Bellamy grew more and more inclined to stay with them. They had a somewhat safe place built up here. Octavia was browsing a book that Lincoln brought up for her. Raven was easily communicating with the Ark. And Bellamy could clearly see Clarke’s silhouette through her tent, drawing in a notebook that Lincoln recovered for her.

 _We can do it_ , he understood as he watched his companions go about their first day in hiding. Octavia would grow to like it down here on the ground, if she didn't like it already. She didn't deserve to be stolen away by him, off to God knows where in the never-ending forest outside. But... Bellamy couldn't leave her behind, either; while they had their moments, neither sibling could survive without the other. It just wasn't possible.

 _For now we have to save ourselves._ Even though Clarke was a privileged and annoying royal, hope radiated off her whenever she spoke. That hope managed to climb the tall wall he'd built around himself ever since his mother’s death, and now he was left with an ounce of optimism as he thought about the future. He’d even begun to imagine scenarios in which the Chancellor clears his name, and they make peace with the grounders, and they build new homes and new societies down on the ground and him and Octavia finally have something stable, something safe - but then he was brought back to reality by Murphy, who had called his name from over at the supplies table.

In his hand was one of the branches Lincoln brought up. He was carving it quite sloppily into what Bellamy thought was supposed to be a spear, but it looked more like a chopstick now. “You aren't really going to listen to that bitch over there, are you?” Murphy muttered, nodding his head in the direction of Clarke's tent. Bellamy grabbed a branch of his own and began carving, much more neatly and precisely than Murphy. “There’s no way in hell I'm staying here.”

Bellamy paused before responding. “I agree with you.” He didn't really, not yet at least, but Murphy wasn't someone he wanted on his bad side. He may be pathetic at carving out spears, but he already had a knife. A knife was all it took to slit his, or Octavia’s, throat.

“Then let’s go, Bellamy. Let’s go during the night when everyone’s sleeping. We can even bring your sister if you want to. All I care about is getting out of the same room as the _Princess._ ” He spoke the nickname as if he was tasting something sour. Bellamy followed Murphy’s glance over to where Clarke stood. She was smiling at Raven and Finn, and braiding Charlotte’s hair as she spoke with them.

Bellamy looked at Murphy out of the corners of his eyes. He wasn't too fond of Clarke either, but Murphy spoke about her like she made the decision to go into hiding herself. She was just following orders from the Ark.

“We can’t leave in the middle of the night, the door’s locked and the grounder’s not around to open it.” He refocused his attention to the spear in his hand. “Besides, there are hundreds of grounders on patrol at that time. We'd never make it.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

Bellamy pursed his lips, still ignoring Murphy’s glance. He couldn't procrastinate any longer. If he didn't make the decision now, both his and Octavia’s lives could be put in danger. Bellamy’s eyes drifted to the spear in Murphy’s hands.

“Tomorrow, right after Lincoln comes with dinner. Hopefully that’s when all of the other grounders will go to have their food as well, and we can sneak out then. I'll make sure to keep the door open, and I'm putting you in charge of hosting a distracting if the rest of them aren't already distracted enough by the food. Until then, we have to sharpen as many of these spears as we can. The more spears we make, the more dead grounders we'll leave in our tracks. And Octavia…” He swallowed. He desperately wanted to take her with him, he _needed_ to take her away from all the uncertainty… but it was too dangerous. “We're leaving Octavia behind. I trust her to take care of herself.” She'd held her own while he was fighting the grounders. She'd held her own in confinement. She'd held her own for 16 years, hiding under the floor. She'd have to grow eventually, and this would just be another difficulty he knew she'd face bravely.

Murphy nodded and held out his hand. “Alright, boss. ‘Till tomorrow.”

With a clenched jaw, Bellamy shook his outstretched hand and nodded. “Make sure you carve more of those branches. I'm not walking into the grounder’s trap defenseless.” He stood and turned towards his tent. “And Murphy,” he paused to look back at him, “don't screw this up.”

Murphy didn’t respond, or at least Bellamy didn't hear him, because he was already approaching his and Octavia’s tent. He paused in front of Octavia, who was carefully folding one of the pages of her book. “I’m going to take an early night, O.”

“Really? Well, alright then. I’m going to go over to talk to Jasper and Monty, see what’s up.” She reached out an arm and he helped her to her feet.

Bellamy gave her a look and raised an eyebrow. “Fine, but remember what I always taught you - always go for the groin first. If they touch you, it's a guy's one weakness—”

She punched him playfully and he laughed, kissing her on the forehead before ducking under the covers of the tent. “G’night, Octavia,” he finished, but she was already halfway across the room, giggling as she joined Jasper and Monty near their shelter. Bellamy watched them through a small hole in the canvas. He couldn't even think of sleeping in his current situation, but watching Octavia was like being in a dream anyway. So, he was content.

* * *

As evening turned to night, Clarke watched as Charlotte’s movements slowed, her eyes began to droop, and her yawns became more frequent. Quietly so that the rest of the group wouldn't notice, Clarke stood and traveled to Charlotte’s side. She gently roused her, shaking her shoulders lightly and softly murmuring, “Alright, Charlotte, I think it’s time for you to get to bed. Let’s go.”

Charlotte protested, muttering _no, no, I’m alright_ and all the like — but eventually she gave in to her sleepiness and slid under Clarke’s arm as she lead her back to their tent. Clarke had to support almost all her weight, the poor girl’s legs were so tired under her, but she didn't mind. Charlotte weighed as much as a feather anyway.

Clarke helped Charlotte out of her jacket and shoes and tucked her under the covers. “Night, Charlotte,” she whispered, and was about to leave for the others when she heard Charlotte’s soft voice from behind her.

“Wait…”

She turned, not hostilely, not worriedly, but curiously. “What’s wrong?” Clarke asked in the same soft voice she'd used earlier. She bent down next to Charlotte, tempted to lift her hand and wipe the hair out of her eyes, wipe the sorrow from her completely; instead, Clarke placed one hand on the floor to steady herself, and the other she rested on her knee.

Charlotte seemed hesitant to begin. She avoided Clarke’s gaze and pursed her lips regretfully, but once Clarke grabbed Charlotte’s hand and nodded in encouragement, Charlotte began. “I’m afraid.”

Suddenly, a whole wave of emotions passed over Clarke. She was remorseful and guilty, as well as angry and bitter and, well, fearful. She hated to put Charlotte, a young girl of only 12 or 13, in such a position where she has to wonder if she would wake up and be safe the next morning. She hated the grounders for inflicting so much pain on all of them for something they couldn't control. She hated how they wouldn't even give them a chance to explain — how when they tried to send a diplomat to sort out all their problems, they were given in return a broken Wells, shot through the heart by a Grounder’s arrow. And she hated not knowing if this was all worth it. Clarke didn’t know if they would last the 2 weeks it would take for the Ark to get down there. She didn’t know if they would be discovered by the grounders long before then, and killed for virtually nothing. Clarke was feeling a lot of things, though she didn't share any of them with Charlotte. Except one:

“I’m afraid too, Charlotte.” She admitted. She ran slow circles over Charlotte’s hand with her thumb. “This whole situation scares the hell out of me. But we have to be strong. That’s the only way we can make it through this, so that someday… we wont have to be afraid any longer.” Clarke smiled warmly. “Isn't that what you want? Cause it’s definitely what _I_ want.”

Charlotte revealed a small, shy smile, and nodded her head slightly. Clarke beamed. She couldn't help but feel a sisterly instinct towards Charlotte, despite not having a sibling herself. But watching Bellamy and Octavia over the past week has made her yearn for a similar relationship, one filled with so much love and respect. If there was one thing she admired about Bellamy Blake, it was his undying and fervent loyalty to his sister. Clarke patted Charlotte’s hand and looked her straight in the eyes. “You have to be brave for us, Charlotte. You've already accomplished so much, and I know you can do more. By the time this is all over, you'll have one more obstacle under your belt, got it?” Charlotte’s smile widened and she nodded with more surety, and Clarke took that as a signal to leave. But to her surprise, she felt Charlotte’s hand move under hers and grasp Clarke’s arm tightly.

“But… I have nightmares, Clarke. Really bad ones. Ones about my parents back up on the Ark, and now the grounders are in my dreams too… I don't want to go to sleep.” In a quieter tone, she added. “My dreams are scarier than reality could ever be.”

Clarke furrowed her eyebrows together, and recollected a time where she experienced a problem similar to Charlotte’s. “I used to have nightmares too. Horribly bad ones, at least they seemed so to me. My father read me a silly story one time, it was about a monster who hid under children’s beds only to devour them in the middle of the night while they were sleeping. I was so afraid that I wouldn't even go near my bed, I would rather sleep on the kitchen floor. But even then, I would still dream I was in that bed, and I could see the monster’s slick, long, bony fingers slither out from under it. It would reach up and grab me, and right before he swallowed me whole, I woke up screaming, waking up my whole family and probably my whole station too.” Clarke laughed lightly at how silly it sounded. “The nightmares finally stopped once my mother came to my bedside one night. She would trace her fingers up and down my back, since I slept on my stomach, and she would hum a short tune that I’m sure she made up right on the spot. I fell asleep with the melody replaying in my head, while I conducted an orchestra full of zoo animals.” Both Charlotte and Clarke laughed at the thought, and Clarke shook her head from the memory. “Long story short, Charlotte, you have to be the solution of your own problems. You can't just accept whatever’s thrown at with open arms, you have to fight your fears. That’s the only way to get them to go away.”

Clarke couldn't restrain herself; she raised a hand to push away the stray hairs poking out onto Charlotte’s face. “I believe in you,” she rephrased, and pulled her hand away again. Charlotte didn’t object this time, but she did whisper Clarke’s name questioningly.

“Can you… hum to me? Like your mother did with you?”

Clarke hesitated for a moment, but she obliged with a nod and sat flat down next to Charlotte. “Alright. I can do that. But not for long — I'm taking first watch tonight, to make sure no grounders come in and mistake you for someone they can harm.”

Charlotte smiled at her gratefully before pulling the covers up closer to her neck. She shifted positions so that she was laying on her side and her back faced Clarke. Softly, she began to hum, the same exact song her mother used with her. Her hand traveled up and down Charlotte’s arm, soothingly, relaxingly, willing her to fall asleep and dream of silly musical animals like she did once so long ago.

Once Charlotte’s breaths fell in an even rhythm, Clarke quietly stood up and ducked under and out the flap of the tent. She expected to see all the others still outside, laughing and joking with each other, but they had all disappeared back into their homes. The only one she could see was Bellamy, sitting at the foot of his tent, his legs pulled up to his chest and his arms resting on his knees.

She looked at him briefly, then took her seat by the supplies table. “Can’t sleep?” She breathed, not very loudly but easy enough for him to hear.

He paused before responding, though not for very long. He was watching her curiously, though she purposefully avoided his gaze. “Heard you humming.”

Clarke’s eyes flashed to meet his for a moment before returning to their set position on the ladder. She bit the inside of her cheek while nodding in response. She wasn't embarrassed in any way; there was nothing she had to be ashamed of. Though she would have like to have kept what just happened between her and Charlotte to herself. “Sorry,” She replied simply.

“I don't mind it,” He mumbled before turning around and crawling back into his tent. It was then that Clarke wondered how often he had to hum to Octavia before she went to sleep. _Often_ , she figured as she heard the clicking of a button and saw the extinguished glow of a flashlight from inside the Blake’s residence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudo's, comments, bookmarks, anything and everything - it's all appreciated! I hope you enjoy!


	3. One for the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Charlotte talk; Charlotte and Clarke bond; Murphy makes a dangerous move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly more violent than previous ones. Nothing descriptive, though please be aware that knives and blood are mentioned throughout this.

Bellamy only slept for a few hours during the delinquent’s first night in hiding. He had tried to convince himself to stay awake _all_ night, determined to watch over Octavia — he knew that even a mere second of shut eye could mean his sister’s death: a second was all it took for a grounder to sneak in their tent and snatch her. However, despite Bellamy’s most valiant efforts of consciousness, the past few days had been exhausting and he needed to rest… just for a minute or two…

Hours later, Bellamy woke. Frustrated with himself, he crawled out of his tent over towards the supplies table. He would still be able to guard Octavia from the outside, he figured, and now at least he wouldn't be tempted by the warm covers.

He watched his tent mostly, though he did make sure to keep an eye on the hatch door and the other tents around him. Bellamy was the only one awake, as far as he could tell — Clarke’s watch had ended long ago, and the next person scheduled for watch duty was obviously too tired to make the effort.

"Sure thing buddy, I got this. No worries." Bellamy muttered to himself sarcastically. In all honesty, he wasn't overly upset about being the only one awake; in fact, he was relieved. He'd rather not deal with the awkwardness of explaining why he refused to go to sleep, plus he simply didn't want to tolerate anyone this early in the morning. There’s only so much one guy can handle, and Bellamy’s plate was already quite full.

He couldn't keep his mind off his conversation with Murphy last night. Bellamy still questioned whether he'd made the right decision. If he stayed in the dropship, then he'd be killed — either by the grounders or by the Ark once they came down to save them. But if he left with Murphy like he planned to, then he'd be leaving Octavia behind. To leave her would be like leaving behind part of his soul. Not to mention that they'd be walking straight into a death trap, with grounders around them at all angles.

Frustrated and confused, Bellamy decided that the only way he'd make it out of this alive was if he prepared himself. So he cut the seat belts off the wall, forged a makeshift backpack, and began packing it with food and supplies. And while he waited, he carved as many spears as he could —the more dead grounders, the better.

After about an hour, Bellamy had carved out all the spears that were left, and he was nibbling on some berries to keep him busy. Eventually, his eyes drifted to the single window on the other side of the room. Outside, the sky was shifting from black to a much lighter, brighter pinkish-blue, and a few birds circled around the silhouetted trees. He sighed. He wanted to be out there.

Suddenly, a rustling noise broke the silence inside the dropship. Bellamy’s head snapped around, though it was only the young girl, he believed her name was Charlotte, stepping out of her and Clarke’s tent. Slightly surprised, he placed the bowl of fruit on the floor to his side, and sat up straighter. He watched her curiously as she closed the flap of her tent and wiped her hands on her pants, as if she had dirt on her. Then she turned around saw him. Her eyes widened and she stopped moving, her mouth dropping slightly in shock.

“I… I didn't think anyone else was awake yet,” She explained, though Bellamy wasn't sure why she felt the need to defend herself.

If this was someone else, and if he had gotten any sleep the past few days, he probably would have responded with some snarky remark. But Charlotte was just a kid, probably only 12 years old, and Bellamy took pity on her. “Technically, you thought right - no one is awake yet. I didn't sleep, so how could I have woken up?”

He offered a smile as a sign of peace, and was almost happy when he saw her own lips turn up slightly. However, it was only a small smile, and she was still unmoving in her position by her tent. She was probably afraid of him; she’d probably seen what he'd done against the grounders, or maybe she'd heard cruel words come out of his mouth. The thought made him clench his jaw. Bellamy never wanted to be a bad guy. He just wanted to protect his sister - he just wanted to survive.

Slightly unsure of how to pursue, he decided to talk to her how he might talk to Octavia. “Are you hungry? You want some berries?”

Charlotte didn't hesitate in nodding her head, though she approached him slowly and quietly. Bellamy hoped her reasoning was just that she didn't want to wake anyone up with her heavy footsteps. As she appeared in front of him, he lifted the bowl up to her. She seemed starved, although Lincoln had brought them a pretty filling meal last night. “Here,” he said, raising the bowl a little higher for her to take it into her hands. She gladly accepted it, wrapping one arm around it while using her other hand to pick for blueberries, raspberries, and others. Then she sat down across from him, crossing her legs under her. Bellamy followed suit. He'd had his knees up to his chest, but once she sat down they blocked his view of her. Surely he hadn't sat criss-cross applesauce (a phrase he learnt in some silly book that he passed on to Octavia) since he was back in the Ark, playing with a young Octavia in their room.

Once Charlotte began to slow down her eating, Bellamy couldn't resist asking the question he'd been wondering since she stumbled out of her tent. “Charlotte, right?” he began, continuing quickly: “How come _you’re_ up this early, and not the princess you're rooming with?” Clarke definitely seemed like someone who was extraordinarily prompt, and always up bizarrely early.

Charlotte looked at him for a few seconds, considering how she would reply, or _if_ she would reply in the first place. She swallowed and averted her glance, and Bellamy expected silence, but she spoke quietly. “Clarke had a long day yesterday. She was up really early, and she took first watch. She was exhausted.” Charlotte paused before continuing. “I can never sleep,” she told him, her eyes flashing up to meet his shyly, ashamedly. “I… I have dreams, nightmares actually.” Before taking another berry, she muttered. “Surprisingly enough, reality is less terrifying than my dreams.”

Bellamy bowed his head. He never remembered having nightmares, though the majority of his life was a nightmare in itself.

He wasn't much of an advice-giving kind of guy, but his mom had been. Bellamy specifically remembered something she had told Octavia once - now, it seemed like such a long time ago - that he now tells himself daily, reminding him and encouraging him to keep going. Charlotte seemed like she needed the same kind of advice he'd been given.

“Well, Charlotte, if you want to get rid of the demons that haunt your sleep, then you're going to have to slay them yourself. Everyone has their fears, but only some of us do something about them.” He cast his eyes up. She was looking at him with somewhat of a confused look on her face.

“But…” She began, though Bellamy cut her off.

“You can’t live your life looking over your shoulder every 5 seconds. If you let your fear control you, then what’s the point? Eventually you have to look fear in the eyes and say, _screw you_. Even if you don’t believe it; if you say it often enough, you’ll trick your brain into thinking it‘s true.” As he paused he felt his lips turn up into a grimace. He remembered promising himself every night that he wouldn’t allow Octavia to be caught. He remembered saying to himself that he would die before he let them take her away from him.

Bellamy’s eyes met Charlotte’s. She was looking at him like she knew exactly what he was feeling. He was about to turn away when she breathed, “Screw you.”

Instantly he sat up straighter, his face lit up, and he smiled down at her. “Screw you,” she said again, more surely this time. Bellamy exhaled a laugh, showing his teeth as she beamed back at him.

Suddenly a low, buzzing noise resounded around the level. Both Bellamy and Charlotte tensed, looking around for the source of the noise, when Clarke poked her head out of the tent from across the room. As more heads appeared out of the flaps of the tents, Clarke stepped out of her tent completely. “Charlotte,” she urged in a soft voice. Once Charlotte was under Clarke’s arm, she turned around to the rest of them. “It’s Lincoln. That’s the warning we'll get whenever grounders are about to enter the ship.” She told them in a quiet voice. “Now, we have to be completely silent until Lincoln comes up here to tell us that the coast is clear. Everyone understand?”

Everyone — except maybe Murphy — nodded their heads. Clarke nodded and turned around to re-enter her tent, but before she did so she looked over her shoulder, meeting Bellamy’s gaze. Her glance only lasted a few seconds until she turned and followed Charlotte into their tent. Bellamy stumbled back into his tent only to find Octavia still asleep, a gentle snore coming from her mouth. Bellamy smiled.

* * *

Clarke and Charlotte laid side-by-side to each other, resting on their stomachs. Clarke was showing her the sketchbook she had acquired, similar to the one Lincoln carried around himself, and they were passing notes to each other as they tried to ignore the bustling of grounders below the floor. Clarke began, writing simply, _How long ago did you wake up?_

Charlotte took the pencil from Clarke and wrote, _Maybe like 20 minutes before the bell_. Her handwriting was tall and narrow, but slightly sloppy at the same time. Before she gave the pencil back to Clarke, she added, _I went out to have some berries but ended up talking to Bellamy too_.

Clarke had figured the two of them had shared words. She wasn't quite sure what she thought of Bellamy yet. She knew he met the grounders bravely in battle, she knew he loved his sister with all his heart; yet he gave off a very arrogant and selfish vibe. When he did speak to people besides Octavia and Murphy, which was rare — it seemed that all he had to say was something rude or condescending. Plus, while Clarke knew some things about him, her knowledge was far outweighed by things she _didn't_ know about him. She hadn't forgotten the first few minutes after they'd landed on the ground, when he’d pushed his way to the front of the crowd wearing a guardsman’s suit. Bellamy Blake was _not_ a guardsman, that was for sure.

However, Clarke didn’t express her doubts to Charlotte. Instead, she took the pencil and wrote in her curly handwriting, _What did you guys talk about_?

Charlotte hesitated before responding, and Clarke did not miss the way her eyes flickered up nervously before she wrote her reply. _I told him I had trouble sleeping. He told me he didn't sleep at all. Then he gave me advice on how to get my nightmares to go away. I think it might work_.

When Clarke finished reading, she looked to her left and saw Charlotte beaming up at her. Clarke smiled back, but she didn’t show the slight hurt she felt that her own method didn't work. Nonetheless, as long as Charlotte was happy, and as long as her nightmares went away, Clarke was content. _That’s good_ , she wrote, _as long as your dreams return to normal._

Clarke smiled at her and Charlotte smiled back and they continued smiling at each other for the rest of the day, until they were permitted to speak again.

\---

According to Clarke’s watch, it wasn’t until 5 o'clock that Lincoln unlocked the door and told them they could talk again. As they all stepped out of their tents, stretching and yawning and waking all their muscles, Lincoln spoke so softly that probably only Clarke could hear him: “I'll be right back with some food for dinner.” And then he ducked his head back under the door, but not before flashing Octavia a smile.

Clarke drifted over to Raven, who was already at the communications table that she had built to correspond with the Ark. The only good luck the hundred has had so far was that the Ark was able to tell that the dropship had landed far off from its original destination, and the council was smart enough to think that something might be wrong. Under Jaha’s command from his hospital bed, they went to work right away on repairing an old pod, and bravely sent Raven down on the second day with medical supplies, food, and utilities for easy communication with the Ark. What they should have sent was guns, which would have given them a real chance of fighting the grounders and saving more of their people, but even in the council’s wildest dreams, they never imagined there could be survivors on the ground from after the war. They didn't even consider sending them weapons.

Raven was bent over the table, headset on, listening to something intently. Clarke waited until she softened up a bit before asking, “Any news?”

Raven looked up, not having noticed Clarke was there in the first place, and then she smiled. “Nope, nada,” she replied as she placed her headset on the table. Then she stood up so she was at Clarke’s level. “Well, nothing but the usual: there’s still interference in the atmosphere, solar flares, blah blah. They're working their best to get the dropships prepared, blah blah.” Raven shrugged. “Nothing we haven't heard before.”

Clarke pursed her lips, but turned when she heard footsteps coming up the ladder. Lincoln was trying to climb up while holding a basket full of food under his arms. Without hesitation, Clarke ran over to him, taking the basket from him while Octavia helped pull him up onto the floor.

Clarke immediately began to dig through the basket, and found a large, bulky piece of meat wrapped in some cloth. Her face lit up, and she whispered, “Is that a turkey?”

She was mostly talking to herself, but Jasper overheard her and came stumbling over. “A _turkey_?” A wide grin spread across his face, and too quickly for Clarke to stop him, he pulled the meat out of the basket and held it high above his head. “We’re feasting tonight, my friends!” He roared, earning a _woo_  from nearly everyone.

Even Clarke managed a laugh, but her joy was short lived. “EVERYBODY LISTEN UP!” A voice yelled from behind her, and when she turned, her hand flew up to her mouth in terror.

Murphy had a bag slung over his shoulder, a cross look on his face, and a knife up against Charlotte’s throat.

Clarke was so petrified, she couldn't make out words. She knew she should scream, she should fight, she should tell him to _get the hell away from her_ , but she was frozen in her place. Everyone else was, too, except one.

Bellamy was standing next to the hatch door, holding it open. He had a shocked look on his face, but Clarke suspected he was just acting. “Murphy, what the hell are you —” he began, but Murphy cut him off.

“Be quiet, Bellamy.” Murphy sneered, not bothering to meet Bellamy’s glance. He adjusted his grip on the knife and on Charlotte. He clutched her shoulder tightly, shaking her. Clarke watched as Charlotte winced, and a tear slid out of her eye. Clarke stopped breathing. “You'd do best to listen carefully!” Murphy yelled in a loud, commanding voice, addressing everyone now. “We are leaving. And if any of you try to stop us, I will _slit her throat_.”

Octavia was the one who spoke next, from her spot behind Lincoln, who was holding an arm out in front of her protectively. “…Bellamy?” she breathed softly. None of them would have been able to hear her if the room wasn’t so deadly silent.

Bellamy watched his sister with a desperate expression, as if he was trying to communicate with her without using words. But he didn't reply, and instead turned his gaze back to Murphy. “Murphy, this is _not_ what we agreed on.”

“You told me to create a distraction. Isn't this distracting enough?” Murphy replied, a smug look appearing on his face.

Suddenly, a white-hot anger spread through Clarke. She lowered her hands and narrowed her eyes furiously. “What are you trying to achieve?!” She cried, her hands balling into fists by her sides. “You think you're just going to leap into the forest and run off unnoticed? If you leave this room, the grounders will find you and kill you!” Clarke began to take a few steps forward, but as soon as she moved Murphy pressed the knife tighter against Charlotte’s throat. Clarke stopped, clenching her teeth.

“Better than being stuck in here with you, _Princess_.” He spat out the nickname like it was poison. Clarke exhaled, frustrated and desperate, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Octavia tried again, pushing past Lincoln. “You were going to leave us? You were going to leave _me_?”

Bellamy couldn't look his sister in the eyes, clearly ashamed. _As he should be_ , Clarke thought. This time he responded to her: “I did something they'll never forgive me for when they come down.” He muttered, his voice hoarse. “I… I shot the Chancellor. If I don’t get out of here, they'll kill me.”

Gasps were heard all around the room. She heard mutters of _"It was him?"_ and _"That's who it was!"_   from multiple mouths. Even Murphy looked shocked. But Clarke was unfazed, seeing an opportunity and taking it. “You're right, Bellamy. They won't forgive you, if you do this. But once they come down, they won't have to forgive you, because you'll be dead.” Clarke paused, wetting her lips and trying to decide her next words carefully. Swallowing down her panic, she continued. “The grounders will find you, both of you, and then they'll find us — they'll find your sister, and they’ll kill her too.” Bellamy visibly stopped breathing, his eyes landing on Octavia in desperation. Clarke didn't waste any time. “But you can stop this, Bellamy. You can save yourself, and your sister, and… and Charlotte.” Clarke knew she'd be taking a risk by saying that, but it had to be done.

Everyone looked at Murphy, who looked confused and surprised. Angrily, he squeezed Charlotte’s shoulder and pressed the knife deeper into her skin. “You have no idea what you're talking about, bitch.” Murphy scoffed, glaring at Clarke.

Clarke ignored him, still watching Bellamy intently. “If you let this go, then I'll tell Jaha how courageously you fought the grounders. We'll all tell him how selflessly you defended the rest of us, how you pretty much saved our lives.” Clarke continued, nodding. “That’s no exaggeration, and once Jaha hears it, he’ll believe it. Because it’s _true_. He'll pardon you, and in fact, he'll probably praise you for it. I _promise_. But... if you do this… you're dead.” She said simply, truthfully.

Bellamy didn't move an inch. Clarke couldn't tell if he was considering it or if he just thought she was crazy. She looked from Charlotte back to him, desperately hoping that he had a sliver of humanity in him and that he wouldn't let a 12 year old girl be murdered when he could save them all instead. “Please,” Clarke whispered, a final effort.

Murphy gave a slightly nervous laugh. “Do you really think he’s gonna side with you? He’s—”

Murphy was cut off, as Bellamy swiftly sprinted towards him, knocking him down and away from Charlotte. But he wasn't quick enough, as Charlotte stumbled to the floor, blood seeping from her skin.

 _“Charlotte?!”_ Clarke gasped.


	4. Give Up the Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the events of that afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to say that this might be the last update for a while. I'm much busier than I was when I first started this work, but if my schedule does clear up soon then this is the first thing I'll work on. If you plan on sticking around - thank you!

Bellamy held Murphy down while Clarke ran after Charlotte. He kicked the knife out of his hand and across the room, and it was Lincoln who picked it up. Lincoln dropped to his knees before Murphy and held the knife up to his face. “If you even think about trying anything stupid, this is going through your chest. Got it?” Lincoln threatened, his eyes darkening. Bellamy had never seen him act so… _scary_. Slowly, Lincoln tilted his head up to look at Bellamy. Calmly, he told him, “You should get rope to tie him up with. There’s some on the supplies table.”

It took Bellamy a few seconds to let go of Murphy and get up on his feet. His mouth hung agape, and he tentatively lifted himself up so that he could see over Lincoln’s bulky figure. Behind him, Clarke was bending over Charlotte, Finn was removing a layer of clothing to use as bandage, and everyone else was watching in horror, wondering if Clarke — the fearless healer who had tried to save so many — would save this one too.

“Bellamy,” Lincoln urged, “The rope.”

For a mere moment, Bellamy was confused as to what he had meant, until he remembered _right, Murphy may have just murdered a 12-year old._   “Yeah,” he replied lowly as he turned away, heading for the supplies table. He wobbled as he walked, the effects of both sleep deprivation and shock making him unsteady. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Clarke. She was crying, frantically ordering people around and desperately trying to stop the bleeding. Bellamy couldn't bring himself to watch for more than a few seconds. It was his fault that they were in this position. He agreed to escaping with Murphy. He told him to make a distraction. And he _waited_ to save Charlotte.

He waited too damn long.

A fresh wave of anger washed over him. He grabbed the rope and spun back around to where Murphy and Lincoln were, falling to his knees and pushing Murphy to the floor. He flipped him over so that he lay on his stomach, and he pulled his arms back, tying his wrists together tightly. Murphy grunted and wheezed Bellamy’s name, but Bellamy grabbed his throat and shoved his finger in his face. “Don't you fucking speak,” He growled. _You don't deserve to speak. Do I deserve to speak?_  And he finished tying him up.

About an hour later, Clarke stood up. Her hands were covered with blood, and there were red stains all over her clothes. “She’s… she’s gone.” Bellamy had known it for a while now, but Clarke refused to give up until now. She was a hopeful person.

Bellamy couldn't look at Murphy. If he looked at him, then he would punch him, and punch him again, and he wouldn't be able to stop punching him until he was dead. But if he looked anywhere else, he might catch the eye of Octavia, or Clarke, or anyone - and he knew how they would look back at him. Bellamy was too stubborn, too prideful… too _guilty_ to look up. So he just sat by Murphy’s side, eyes drifting from his fingers to his shoes to the floor.

In the middle of the room, they were trying to decide what to do. Monty was insisting that Lincoln had to get Charlotte out of there before they did anything, bury her, and clean up the blood she left behind. _So, pretend like it never happened?_ Bellamy mused, though he didn't dare say a word out loud. Meanwhile, Finn was concerned about what to do with Murphy. He protested against killing him, claiming that once they went that far they were just as bad as him. Jasper, however, thought the complete opposite. He insisted that they stab him, or hang him, or slit his throat the same way he did Charlotte: “It’s only what the bastard deserves,” He persisted.

Of course the final decision wasn't up to them. Eventually all discussion ended, and everyone turned to Clarke for her ruling on the matter. She was still sitting by Charlotte’s side, brushing her hair with her fingers, wiping away dry tears with her thumb. “Banish Murphy,” she said quietly, her voice cracking. “Send him out to grounders like he wants, have them kill him like they would have anyway.”

Raven’s reply was quick but delicate. “What if the grounders think there’s more where he came from? What if they come looking for us, Clarke?”

Clarke shook her head, eyes still on Charlotte’s limp body. “They won't, if Lincoln releases him far enough from here. They'll think he’s just a leftover, one they just missed.” She talked slowly and almost tiredly, however Bellamy seriously doubted she'd be sleeping anytime soon.

Finn bent down next to Clarke. He wasn’t too close, but he wanted her to know that she wasn't alone. Bellamy wished he had the same comfort right now; though he doubted Octavia would be speaking to him for quite a while. Finn gently placed a hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “What are we going to do with her…?” He sounded like he was going to continue, but he was picking his words extra carefully. “…You can take as much time as you need, Clarke.”

“No,” she replied quickly. “As soon… as soon as Murphy’s out of here, we… we should put Charlotte under the ground, too. If that’s okay with you, Lincoln,” she raised her head only slightly too look at Lincoln, who had gotten up to stand with Octavia a while ago.

“Of course,” Lincoln assured, nodding in Clarke’s direction. He looked from Octavia by his side back to Clarke in the middle of the room. “I'll take him now, get it over with. They’re still having dinner out there, but they'll be finishing up soon. We shouldn't hesitate.”

Lincoln crossed to Murphy, who was still laying on his stomach with his hands and feet tied behind him. At some point during the past hour, Bellamy had tied the last of the rope around his mouth, sick of his constant whining and begging, but once more he had begun to try and talk. “Please,” Bellamy heard him try to say, and then he continued on muttering stuff about fairness and forgiveness, but Bellamy was sick of it.

“Shut up, Murphy.” He growled, speaking for the first time in a while; “You’re getting what you deserve.”

Everyone turned to look at him. Raven, Monty and Jasper glared at him with their eyes narrowed and their arms folded over their chests. Finn watched him with a pitiful look on his face. Octavia looked betrayed. Bellamy’s chest tightened, and he felt like kicking himself. He couldn't put into words how much he regretted what he’d done. The only one whose eyes weren't shooting daggers at him was Clarke. She was watching still Charlotte.

“Bellamy, do you think you could help me get Murphy down the ladder?” Lincoln suddenly asked, and Bellamy nodded in relief. He wasn't sure how much longer he could handle the deadly glances he was getting. He pushed himself up and dragged Murphy to hatch door. Lincoln climbed halfway down the ladder before Bellamy lowered Murphy down into Lincoln’s outstretched arm. Bellamy was half tempted to just drop Murphy down to the floor, but he resisted the urge. They worked their way all the way down to the bottom floor, where Lincoln lifted Murphy up over his shoulder and turned to give Bellamy a final look. Bellamy nodded at him and spun around to climb back up the ladder. He took his time getting back up, as it would probably be a while before he saw anywhere but the third level again.

Once he reached their floor, he closed the door and wiped imaginary dust off his pants. Everyone else had transitioned from standing around awkwardly to crowding around the dinner basket Lincoln had brought up forever ago. Bellamy was tempted to cut himself a slice of turkey, but he had something else he needed to do first. He walked past them into his tent, and he stripped his bed of its blanket. It was more of a ripped section of the parachute, but it would suffice. He carried it out and over to where Clarke sat with Charlotte. Slowly, Bellamy bent down so he was level with them.

Charlotte’s face was pale and lifeless, her lips a light blue, her skin faint and almost translucent. She looked like a completely different person than the girl he'd seen just this morning. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. She had been alive just this morning…

Bellamy opened his eyes as he exhaled. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered, to both Clarke and Charlotte. He could feel Clarke’s glance shift from Charlotte to him, but Bellamy himself didn’t look away from the limp body under him. “I never meant for any of this to happen.” He knew he should continue, he should try and beg for her forgiveness so that he might still have a shot of being pardoned by the Chancellor. But he couldn’t find the words to say or the excuses to give, so instead he slowly unraveled the blanket under his arm and placed it over Charlotte’s body.

Clarke released her breath next to him. Without a word, she stood up and headed back to her tent. Bellamy bowed his head. _Time to let go,_ he decided; and he helped Lincoln bury Charlotte, and he snuck back upstairs, and he sank into his seat near the supplies table where he took first watch.

* * *

As soon as she was in the privacy of her tent, Clarke pulled out her sketchbook. She carefully flipped past the page of conversation she'd had with Charlotte, and opened a fresh, blank page. She began a new drawing, a drawing which slowly morphed into Charlotte. Her hair was loose and flowing past her shoulders, and flowers wove throughout the strands. It proved to be much more difficult than she’d expected it to be, as she had to fix every single mistake she made, no matter how small. At one point it looked like she'd drawn too many eyelashes, so Clarke erased the whole eye and began again.

Her stomach was growling non-stop, but she was not ready to walk out of her tent yet, to walk past Charlotte’s body, to walk past Bellamy. She would rather hide away with her sketches and her hunger than go out there.

Clarke was unsure how she should feel about Bellamy and what he'd done. When she'd decided to banish Murphy, she had wanted to say his name too - she wanted him to suffer, to fear for his life, to feel the same pain Charlotte felt, the same pain _she_ felt. But then she remembered the smile on Charlotte’s face when she had written to her about Bellamy, and the completely crushed look on Bellamy’s face when he saw what Murphy had done. Clarke couldn't forgive Bellamy for deciding to leave them, but the fact that he'd changed his mind had to count for something. Even if he did change his mind too late.

Clarke shook her head. _He only changed his mind because you offered to save his life._ Bellamy was a selfish person, if he would rather save his own skin than stay back to protect people like Charlotte, and his sister. _His sister…_ suddenly she remembered the words she’d said to him. _The grounders will find you, and then they'll find us — they'll find your sister, and they’ll kill her too._ That was all it took for Bellamy to tear Murphy away from Charlotte and push his face into the ground. Bellamy was always looking out for Octavia, and maybe that’s why he wanted to get away from her so badly. If he took her with him, he put her in danger of the grounders. But if he'd stayed and the Ark came down to find him, then they would find Octavia too. Maybe they would do the same to her as they would do to him, just because they were related…

Clarke groaned and shoved her face into her hands. She couldn't keep thinking of the ifs and ands and buts. She needed to sleep, to shut down her body for a while, and then maybe she'd dream of the answers she was looking for.

According to her watch, it was about 10 o'clock. She listened outside, but couldn't really hear anyone about. Quietly she ducked under the flap of her tent, and the first thing she noticed was that Charlotte’s body was gone. Lincoln had already buried her. Clarke’s eyes dropped. She wished she could have watched her go under the ground, but it would have been too dangerous. The second thing she noticed was Bellamy, sitting near the supplies table. He must have been on watch. Clarke was slightly uncomfortable with that, but she was pretty sure Bellamy wasn't going to sneak into their tents with a knife and stab them all. So she figured she'd have to deal with it. The third thing Clarke noticed was Finn, sitting at the foot of his tent with a bucket in front of him.

Clarke crossed the room to the supplies table where the medical kit Raven had brought down was located. She walked straight past Bellamy, not even making eye contact with him. Clarke swiftly found the sleeping pills hidden under a couple bandages, and she took a few of them with a cup of water. (The water bucket was getting low, and she made a mental reminder to ask Lincoln to refill it when he got the chance.) Eager to get as far away from Bellamy as she could, Clarke then quickly walked to where Finn sat.

She kneeled down next to him, muttering a quiet “Hey.” Clarke saw that in the bucket he had before him were a few branches of a berry plant. Finn was pulling off the berries from the branches and separating them into a different bowl. When he saw her, though, he put down the branches and smiled.

“Hi,” he said softly. “You feeling alright?”

Clarke shrugged, and paused before responding. “Not really,” she replied honestly. Her eyes drifted to the floor. “I just want to go to sleep, turn off for a while, and not have to think about any of this.”

Beside her, Finn nodded his head. “That’s why you took those sleeping pills, huh.” Clarke replied with a nod. “I'm sorry,” Finn continued.

Clarke shrugged her shoulders. “I just don't know what to think.” She raised her head to meet his glance, and continued in a soft voice so that Bellamy wouldn't be able to hear her. “I want to hate Bellamy for all of this, but I want to forgive him, too. I keep arguing with myself about what I believe. I wish I could wake up with the right answer.” _I wish I could bring back Charlotte, too. I wish I could bring back everyone._

Finn sighed. “Well, of course he made a mistake. He’s made a few mistakes. But, I mean… so have I.” He turned his head slowly. “So have you. So have all of us.”

She tilted her head. “What are you trying to say?” Clarke thought she knew where he was going, but it was easier for him to say it out loud than for her to admit it to herself.

Finn shrugged and shook his head. “Well, just like the rest of us, he’s human. He made a few bad choices, but do you really think he had bad intentions? All he wanted to do was protect Octavia.” Finn paused, and she looked at him. “I don't have a sibling, but I've always cared for Raven. I shared my rations with her, walked with her to school… I tried to treat her like she was my sister.” He stopped, and they both chuckled. “Well, it sounds bad now, but the point is that I know what it feels like to love someone _that_ much, love someone as much as Bellamy loves Octavia. I would do all that he did and more for Raven. Do you really think Bellamy did everything for _himself_?”

They stared at each other for a minute, Clarke processing his words carefully. She wet her lips and exhaled before she turned to him and nodded. “I think the pills are starting to kick in. I’m going to try and sleep, but I'll catch you in the morning, alright?”

Finn nodded and picked the branch back up. “Alright. I’m going to finish this branch and try to get some sleep, but I’m taking second watch. So I'll see you when you wake up.” Finn smiled warmly at her before he refocused on his work. Clarke tried to smile back, and then she slunk back into her tent. Thankfully, it didn't take her long to fall into a dreamless sleep. She had been worried that the same nightmares that had haunted Charlotte would find her as well, but she got lucky.

\---

Clarke woke up early, much earlier than she normally did. Her watch said it was 4:30 A.M. so she tried to fall back asleep, but her efforts proved pointless. Once she woke up, it was impossible to go back to bed. Grunting, she lifted herself out from under the covers and brushed her hair out of her face. She decided that she would go out and talk to Finn, since it had to be his shift by now. Or, if he was tired, she would offer to take it over for him. It was only the nice thing to do.

When she stepped out of the shade, it wasn’t Finn that she found, it was Bellamy; sitting in the same position that she’s seen him in 6 hours ago before she'd gone to bed. Clarke froze in her spot, but Bellamy had already seen her. She couldn't just slink back into her tent like a coward, so she swallowed down her nerves, held her head high, and slowly walked across the room to him. Clarke backed up against the wall and slid down next to him (but not too close) and hit the floor with a _thump_.

Both of them stared ahead, waiting for the other to speak. Clarke was still undecided on her feelings about him, but she supposed that she would make up her mind once this conversation was through.

“I thought Finn was supposed to be taking the next watch,” She began simply, speaking in a low voice as not to disturb those who were still sleeping.

Bellamy took a long, deep breath before replying. “I never woke him up.”

She furrowed her brows. This man was stubborn. “If I'm not mistaken, you haven’t slept in at least 2 days. Aren't you exhausted?”

He turned his neck and watched her, his eyes landing on the bottom of her chin and slowly trailing up until he met her gaze. He had deep blue bags under his eyes, but they might have looked darker than usual due to the lack of lighting in the room. “No, I'm not.” he snarled.

Clarke rolled her eyes and pulled her knees up to her chest. Charlotte’s death had affected her immediately; she suspected it was the opposite for Bellamy, and that he was now finally feeling the most regret, and the deepest sense of longing. Now that she thought about it, Clarke was feeling similarly.

“I know you're blaming yourself for the things that have happened…” Clarke began, but she had to stop and decide how she was going to proceed. Would she tell him, _good, you should feel guilty_ , or would she forgive him? She thought back to the conversation she'd had with Finn last night. She'd made her fair share of mistakes — she'd held a grudge against Wells for something he never did. Then she sent him off to the grounders only to get an arrow through his heart. She had let so many kids die, even though if she tried harder she could have saved at least a few of them… but no, she saved none. Clarke was no hero. So who was she to decide if Bellamy was a good person or not?

“…but you need to let it go. It wasn't your fault.” She finished, trying to meet his gaze. But he was looking away and shaking his head.

“It _was_ my fault. I told Murphy to make a distraction. Hell, the whole idea was mine in the first place.” He dropped his face into his palms and his voice was muffled by his skin. “If I’d only been quicker… pushed him away before he got a better grip…”

“Hey, are you listening to me? _I forgive you._ It’s pointless to dwell on things you can’t change, Bellamy.” She grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “I miss Charlotte just as much as you, probably even more, but… she’s gone. She’s not coming back. And we have to move on, if we’re going to survive here for the next 2 weeks.”

Bellamy was looking at her now, but he kept his shoulders slumped and his hands up near his face. Clarke continued; “You've done some bad things. But so have I, and so has everyone else. As long as you work to do better next time, then we can move on. Alright?”

He kept his eyes on her for a while until she'd begun to doubt he'd been listening through her whole speech, until he finally let out a breath and nodded his head. A sliver of a smile grew on Clarke’s face.

“Good. Now go get some sleep, would you? You look like a zombie.”


	5. The Ice is Getting Thinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lincoln's unexplained absence is causing concern among the delinquents. Clarke and Bellamy investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer because of the wait. Hope you enjoy!

Bellamy dozed all the way through both the morning and afternoon bells. Normally he was a light sleeper, rousing at the smallest of sounds, but he was so sleep deprived that not even the shaking and nagging from his sister could wake him. When he finally stumbled out of his tent, Bellamy wandered over to the supplies table looking for breakfast. A confused look grew on his face when he found only a small pile of tree nuts and carrots.

“Looking for breakfast?” He heard a voice behind him. It was Raven. She had a screwdriver in one hand, and with the other she reached over him and grabbed what looked like a piece of scrap metal.

He took a step back to give her room. “Yeah,” He said lowly. Bellamy knew that he had to speak carefully around her. He may have gotten forgiveness from Clarke, but nearly everyone else still hated him for what he did… or what he almost did. He always acted like he didn’t care what other people thought, but he was a human being with human emotions, and just like anyone else he craved appreciation. Especially in his current circumstance. So Bellamy had to at least try to get everyone back on his good side, and he figured Raven would be a good place to start.

She crossed her arms over her chest and a smirk grew on you lips. “Well…” She began, her gaze drifting over to the window, “…You’re about 9 hours too late. But that wouldn’t matter anyway, because Lincoln never showed up this morning.”

Bellamy narrowed his eyes. “What? You mean, he didn’t bring anything to eat?” Raven shook her head. “None of you had breakfast?”

Raven inhaled, and slowly looked over her shoulder at Finn, who was standing in the middle of the room. Clarke was with him, and Bellamy was almost surprised by how sickly she looked. She was pale and rugged, her hair frizzy and her clothing unkempt. He had seen her last night (or early this morning) and then, it had looked like she had almost recovered. But as he thought about it some more, he remembered his mother, and he realized that Clarke’s state wasn’t so surprising. Bellamy knew first hand that it didn’t take 12 hours to get over a death of someone close to you. In fact, he still hadn't gotten over his mom. A feeling of guilt rose in him, and he looked back at Raven.

“We had some wild berries and tree nuts. But Lincoln usually brings us rabbits or fish or turkey. Without the protein that we get from the meat, none of us will be around for much longer.” Raven sighed and lowered her eyes to the metal in her hands. It looked like junk to him, useless and unnecessary, but he didn’t have a mechanic’s eye like her. “Finn’s trying to ration what we‘ve got left. Clarke’s helping him.” A solemn smile grew on her lips, but she continued, not wanting to dwell on what had happened. “The nuts and berries are ten times better than the crap on the Ark, but at least up there we had _artificial_ protein.”

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair. He might have left it at that, but then he remembered he was supposed to be a good guy, and a good guy would shed some light on this situation. “Lincoln will be back. He probably just had things to do. He wouldn’t abandon us.” _He buried someone for us_ , he nearly said, but then he felt his chest tighten and he had a strong urge to change the subject. “What are you doing with that crap?”

Raven looked down at the metal in her hands, then back up at him. “Last time I saw Lincoln, we were working on a little project. We were trying to make walkie talkies… it sort of worked, but not completely. If I can get my walkie to work, then I might be able to send a signal to the one Lincoln’s carrying around.” She sighed. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Good luck,” he told her, and she walked back to her tent.

Later, once he’d grabbed a small handful of nuts and berries, he watched as his sister played a game of tic-tac-toe with Jasper, while Monty sat next to them laughing. Bellamy noticed Jasper’s face light up when he looked at Octavia, and Bellamy’s neutral expression quickly turned into a frown. Instinct made him take a few steps forward, but once Octavia turned her head to look at him, he stopped. He couldn’t help but discern how pale she was, and for a moment he was furious at Lincoln for not supplying her with enough to eat. He was angry with Lincoln, and with Jasper, and with whatever higher power there was out there for putting him and his family in such a doomed situation -- but then he looked at her closer, and saw how her bright eyes grew dark, and how her mouth pursed together in a straight line.

“Octavia,” He breathed. Her name on his lips always used to make him feel better; now it sent a pang of guilt through his body. Bellamy tried holding her glance, but hers was so harsh and hateful that it hurt to look at her. He watched the floor instead.

“Leave me alone, Bellamy.” She spat. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to sleep next to you, either. You can sleep in Murphy’s tent tonight.” Bellamy slowly turned to look over his shoulder. He watched as Finn stepped out from under the flap, pulling up his pants zipper. “We combined tents this morning, so now there’s larger bathroom space. Consider it a luxury. Now you have a bed and bath.” He expected her to laugh, but her face betrayed no emotion.

He sighed. It might have been a luxury if they had an actual bathroom, but the ‘bathroom’ Octavia spoke of was nothing more than a shallow, smelly bucket that Lincoln emptied every night. If things continued like they were, however, and Lincoln didn’t make an appearance, then Bellamy would be left to sleep next to a stinking, gross pot full of crap all night.

He turned, walking past Clarke and Finn and the supplies table to one of the seats installed into the ship. He sat down slowly, hiding in the darkness of the furthest corner of the room, yet he still felt several eyes on him. Bellamy shoved his face in his hands while he fought the urge to scream. The one thing he wanted was privacy; but that was wishful thinking, so far off from his reality that even the prospect of it was laughable. They hid behind thin canvas tied to a single solid wall and called it _privacy_ , but dainty sheets would not shield the screams he so ached to unleash at this very moment. Not like he had any sheets to hide behind anyway -- he was homeless as of moments ago, and somehow Bellamy doubted anyone would be willing to take him in.

The most frustrating part of being essentially quarantined up in the dropship was that he was never alone. Up on the Ark, it was the same way, until they took Octavia and killed his mother. After that, Bellamy had always been lonely, and would have killed to obtain a presence to keep him company. In many ways, he should be grateful to have so many people around him to keep him sane. But he wasn’t the least bit grateful. In fact, he had a strong will to open the hatch door, slide down the ladder, and walk out into the open to face the grounders he knew were waiting for him.

The reasonable part of him recognized that this was a stupid idea thought up out of wrath, but the slightly mad part of him put together the pieces of a plan, dangerous in nature yet benevolent in intention.

After sitting down for a mere 5 minutes, Bellamy shot back up and maneuvered his way around the supplies table into the center of the room. Without a word to the people around him, he bent over the door and pulled it up, sending a creaking, squeaky sound echoing around the level.

He had his feet on one of the rungs of the ladder when he heard a high, urgent voice. “Wait!” Clarke shrieked. Bellamy’s head snapped up, and he watched as she ran over to him. She arrived quickly, placing her hands on the bars over the door and bending over so that her face was almost level with his. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She sneered, her tone angry now as well as pressing.

Bellamy exhaled through his nose, and lifted his eyes to look at her. “What does it look like I’m doing, Princess? I’m going down to see if there’s anything from Lincoln, anything that might be at all useful.” He hesitated for a second, wondering if he should keep going, if that would be smart. Then he realized that he was about to partake in a very un-smart and potentially dangerous sequence, and he thought, _how can I screw up any more?_ “Plus, I can’t stand being in the same room with you people for any longer, or I might suffocate myself.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed, and over her shoulder, Bellamy saw Octavia approach with her arms folded across her chest. Clarke spoke again, though, before he could look at his sister for more than a second; “That’s a stupid and reckless thing to do. It’s only…” she paused to look at her watch -- “…8:15. He’ll be back any minute now, and if not we’ll see him tomorrow. We can all wait till tomorrow. Now get back up here, Bellamy.”

She spoke a demand, and her tone was so powerful that he almost obeyed instinctively. But he stilled his hands, clenched his teeth, and glared at Clarke stubbornly. He opened his mouth to reply when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Octavia. She stumbled and her arms fell around her middle. Bellamy saw beads of sweat drip off his nose. “Octavia,” his whispered, frozen in his spot.

“Octavia!” Jasper resonated from behind her. His loud voice snapped Bellamy back to reality and he rushed up the ladder, half-crawling, half-running to his sister. She had fallen but Jasper caught her, and slowly he laid her onto the floor. Everyone had crowded around her now, but Bellamy was the closest, holding her head in his lap and one of her hands in his own.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She persisted. Bellamy noticed how clammy her hands were as she tried pulling out of his grip. He let her go, but still had her head resting on his legs. “I just didn’t eat much these past few days… and I think it’s hotter up here than usual. I’m fine…”

He wiped her hair out of her face, and looked up at Clarke. She was bending over Octavia as well, scrambling to check her pulse and feel her forehead at the same time. However, when Octavia mentioned her lack of nutrition, Clarke looked up to meet Bellamy’s gaze. He gave her a knowing look, and she, in turn, appeared defeated. Quickly she returned to touching and grabbing Octavia, and Bellamy slowly slid out from under his sister. He rested her head on the floor and stood.

“Clarke, I have to go down.” He tried making his voice sound more negotiable, despite being adamant on his decision. “The only place we’re going to find food is on the lower levels, and now we know how desperately we need it.” Bellamy looked at Octavia sadly, not wanting to go, but knowing he had to. “I won’t get us caught. I promise.”

He had begun stepping down the ladder again when she spoke. “Wait.”

She couldn’t change his mind, no matter what she had to say, so he didn’t stop. He hardly listened as she ordered Raven to get a wet cloth, Finn to get what’s left of the food, and Monty to pour a glass of water. However, Bellamy did look up when she stepped on the first rung, and lowered herself slowly down the ladder. “I’m coming with you,” Clarke said, and a smirk grew on his lips.

* * *

 

She closed the door behind her after telling Finn that she’d knock four times when they came back up. Then she jumped down onto the floor where Bellamy was waiting for her and wiped her hands on her jeans. He had his arms on his hip and a satisfied look on his face. “Glad you could join me.” He jeered.

Clarke sighed. “I couldn’t let you go alone,” she admitted, looking around the level rather than into his eyes. She hadn’t seen it down here since their first day of hiding, and it had changed tremendously since then. Lincoln told them that the first floor was mostly where the grounder’s milled about, but this level was definitely put to use as well. Racks and tables had been constructed out of wood, and several weapons were scattered all around. Bows were in one section of the room, arrows in another, and spears were piled in the center near the door. Everything was somewhat disorganized, but she supposed that Lincoln didn’t really care about neatness up here. It wasn’t the primary floor, and maybe the messiness would put off other grounders from snooping around.

However, if Clarke was alarmed about anything, it was about how many weapons there were up there. There were several hundred arrows, all separated into dozens of sheaths. There were enough bows for each of the delinquents to have 3, and enough spears for them to have 10. And that was only on the _second_ floor. Weapons should be easily accessible, Clarke knew -- and the most logical place for them to be would be on the first floor. Then why was Lincoln storing so many up here? Had they run out of room downstairs? Did the grounders have so many weapons that they needed to occupy a second floor for their leftovers?

She tried to shake the thoughts from her mind. She wasn’t here to take inventory on her enemy. She was here to find food for her people. “Okay. Obviously no food hidden away up here. We’ve got to go down.” Clarke looked from the pile of spears to Bellamy, and found him staring nervously around the room as she had just been doing seconds ago.

“Yeah,” he muttered in a low voice. He had been down here more recently than Clarke had, but clearly he was just as stunned as her. He masked his uneasiness well, though, and bent down to open the door down to the first level. She stopped him before he unlatched the lever.

“Hold on.” Clarke lowered herself to her knees, and held her hand over his. He looked up and she went on. “We have to be deathly quiet. For all we know there could be grounders right outside, and with our luck the radiation probably mutated their hearing into that of a hawk’s.”

Bellamy released a breath, and she couldn’t tell if he was amused by her cautiousness or irritated by it. He muttered a quiet “got it” nonetheless, and slowly opened the door into the darkness below.

While the second and third floors were lit by dim, dying lights, the bottom level was completely dark. “Should’ve brought the flashlight,” Bellamy whispered, but they both knew it was pointless now. Clarke swallowed the fear that had begun to settle inside her, and made a move to step down the ladder, but Bellamy grabbed her arm. "Wait. Let me go first."

Clarke shrugged out of his grip and shot him a dirty look. "No."

He didn't argue; in fact, he looked a little offended. Clarke didn't pay him any mind, and continued her descent down the ladder. With each step down she saw less and less, and rather than looking down she watched Bellamy's figure above her. He watched her too, for a while -- then he started climbing down after her. In no time at all she felt her feet hit the floor, and she slowly turned to view the scene behind her.

A thin, translucent drape covered the large exit of the dropship, allowing a faint flicker of light to shine into the room. It had obviously been part of the parachute, but the grounders hung it up as a substitution to the thick metal door of the dropship. Clarke looked over her shoulder, and saw Bellamy looking at the same thing as her. “They can’t close the door, or else they won’t be able to get back in.” She explained. He nodded in return.

“Yeah, it was real crafty of them, but our main concern should be the fact that they could walk in at any moment and all we’d hear is a flap of fabric before we’re dead on the floor. So… don’t give them any reason to… to come snooping around, alright?” It was the quietest voice she had ever heard Bellamy speak in, as well as the first time she’d heard his tongue twist mid-sentence. Usually his speech was so confident, so convincing -- now she heard doubt lace his words. She was almost amused, ignoring his condescending tone and instead marveling at how human he could be sometimes. Clarke had known that he wasn’t a complete asshole for a little more than a day now, but it wasn’t hard for her old perception of Bellamy to slip into her mind. She gave him a look, pursed her lips, then took a step forward.

“Fine. I’ll look over here, you check over there.” She stepped away from him, taking each step as if she was walking on a minefield, and scanned the room for food. She froze when she felt a hand graze her shoulder.

“I think we should stay close.” Bellamy’s quiet voice filled the chilling silence, and Clarke turned her head to look at him. She was beginning to feel annoyed -- maybe they would’ve already found some food if Bellamy had just shut up and looked around. Clarke disliked feeling so vulnerable down here; all she wanted was to get what they came down for and scurry back upstairs, and be done with this whole experience for good. So she told Bellamy just that.

"I've got myself under control, Bellamy." She began, probably a bit louder than what was necessary. "Remember, you're the one that wanted to come down here. Your sister's the one starving up there. I've got several mouths to feed, and I don't need you acting all over-protective and --"

"Clarke!" He hissed, pulling her to him and backing up against the far wall of the room. Confused and slightly appalled, Clarke began to protest but was silenced by a hand over her mouth, muffling her words. Bewildered, she raised her hands to tear him away from her, but stopped when she looked up and saw what he had seen.

The silhouettes of two grounders had appeared outside behind the drape. Now that it was quiet inside, Clarke heard them talking lowly with each other in a language she couldn't comprehend. When one of them laughed, her stomach fell to her feet, her body chilling and goosebumps growing on her skin. Bellamy removed his hand from her face, but still held her close to him. They were hiding behind a precarious stand of spears, and though it provided some security, Clarke knew that if the grounders lingered long, their cover could be blown easily. At this thought, she sank lower into Bellamy’s hold.

The grounders ducked under the flap, and Clarke had her first glimpse of them. She was surprised at how casual they looked. Besides Lincoln, the only grounders she had ever seen were fighting warriors, dressed in bones and braids and warpaint. These grounders were different: they weren’t as angry. One of them was a woman, her long hair flowing past her waist with beads woven through her braids. She had tattoos all along her collarbone, and she was dressed in tight leather pants and a thick, brown shawl. She looked shockingly ordinary, but her status as a warrior was obvious due to the various pieces of metal armor she adorned herself with. She wore spaulders on her shoulders, cowters on her elbows, and cuisses on her things. She almost looked like one of the medieval heroes Clarke used to read about, but the dark eyeshadow she wore about her eyes gave her an ominous look, and Clarke decided she wasn’t someone she wanted to meet in her lifetime.

Similar to the woman, the male grounder had various pieces of armor all about his body. A large cuirass covered his breast, protruding spikes dotting every inch of the metal. He wore tarnished gauntlets on his hands while dirty, leather sleeves covered the rest of his arms. His pants were made of woven brown fabric with spots of a dark green color that created a unique camouflage. He had tattoos as well, all around his face, but they were hard to see because of his mask.

It was animalistic -- it reminded Clarke of a bear -- with what looked like rusty nails pointing out around the sides. The mask covered almost his whole head, but the holes around his eyes clearly displayed his bright blue irises. The sight of them made her audibly gasp, though she quieted herself as soon as she realized what she’d done. The female craned her head to look in their direction, and Bellamy pulled her closer to him.

"Forget about it, Maeve. Just rats." The male was circling around a stand of bows near the outside of the room, tracing his fingers down the body of a dark, curved longbow.

"Yeah, well I don't like rats. So let's get what Lincoln sent us here to get, and then get the hell out of here."

The mention of Lincoln's name dropped a weight in Clarke's stomach. She should be relieved that he was alive and okay -- it had always been a lurking thought in the back of their minds that something bad had happened to him. But she was not relieved. She was confused, and angry, and hurt. Had Lincoln betrayed them? He sent these grounders here without any warning to the delinquents. If they heard the smallest sound from upstairs, they could investigate it, and then they'd all be dead. Clarke pursed her lips, and glanced up at Bellamy. His face was a mask; his lips were pursed, his brows furrowed, and his jaw clenched. His disposition provided no comfort, but the way his hands tightened around her shoulders and his thumbs rubbed up and down her skin made her breaths flow steadier and her heart rate slow slightly.

“What did he say it looked like?” The man asked. Clarke glanced up, and saw that he was carrying a box in his hands. Her eyes widened. _Where did he get that? What’s in it? Did Lincoln have information about us in there?_ Her doubt in Lincoln was multiplying by the second. But she had to remain hopeful -- if she abandoned her faith, then she may as well step out into the light and surrender herself to the grounders.

“Bigger than that. It has to be able to fit _metal arrows_ in it, Colton, do you really think that tiny thing is what we’re looking for?” The woman replied. Clarke’s eyebrows raised. Metal arrows? Is that what Lincoln did in his spare time? She was about to give Bellamy a funny look, but then the woman started talking again. “He didn’t say what floor he left them on. Let’s check upstairs.” The man nodded and they moved towards the ladder.

Clarke froze. Bellamy stopped rubbing her shoulder. She felt weak and unsteady, like she was going to stumble, and she had a feeling that Bellamy wouldn’t be able to catch her. The grounders couldn’t go upstairs -- they may not be able to hear the delinquents from the bottom level, but if they got onto the second floor, they would be able to hear every footstep, every laugh, every single word spoken. _Don’t lose hope_ , Clarke told herself, but what was there left to hold onto? She realized she’d stopped breathing, and let in a small amount of air through her nose. “We have to do something.” She whispered, closing her eyes and sorting through her options.

Bellamy released one of her shoulders. “Kill them.” He said simply. She snapped her head around, appalled, and saw that he had grabbed a spear off the rack. The grounders were advancing up the ladder, and Bellamy made a move to push past her into the light. But Clarke stopped him, pushing on his chest, and taking hold of the spear.

“No. Killing them will raise questions we can’t answer.” She looked from him to the grounders, who had opened the hatch door and crawled onto the second level. Clarke swallowed and met Bellamy’s eyes. “We have to distract them… we have to give them a reason to come back down.”

His forehead knitted. “How do you propose we distract them, huh? Start yelling and screaming and then blow our cover as well as our people’s? Absolutely not.” He pushed past her again, but she rammed her shoulder hard into his breast. She grabbed the spear out of his hand while he fumbled, and chucked it across the room and out the exitway. It tore through the drape, and a harsh tearing sound reverberated through the room. Clarke picked up another spear, hurling it against the far wall in case the first one hadn’t caused enough of a ruckus.

“What the hell was that?” A low voice grumbled from upstairs, and Bellamy pulled her back against the wall, huddling his head in her shoulder and praying this wasn’t the last time they opened their eyes.


	6. Relax, My Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now's the time to be brave.

The grounders hopped down onto the floor, and Bellamy cringed.

He didn't want to look at them, but he forced himself to. The woman turned her body to face their direction, and Bellamy felt himself sink back farther into the wall and pull Clarke closer to him. Thankfully she looked right past them, and for a second he felt relieved; then the man turned to view them and all the nervousness came flooding back into his body.

"Colton, look." The woman, whose name Bellamy remembered to be Maeve, mumbled so softly that he almost didn't hear her. Colton turned, following her gaze, and so did Bellamy. The woman raised her arm and pointed at the rip in the drape. Then she saw the spear laying on the ground.

“Is someone in here?” The man snarled, slowly pivoting around to view his surroundings. Bellamy felt Colton’s icy blue eyes pass over his and Clarke’s figures and he shivered. _We can’t really be this lucky, he thought_ ; the grounders had _just_ missed them at least three times now. They were bound to be caught eventually. Fate had never been on their side, and it would be silly to think that would change anytime soon. Now, it was just a matter of _when_ they would be discovered, not _if_.

“There.” Maeve said suddenly, nodding directly at them.

Bellamy clenched his teeth. _This is it_. They may be good as dead, but there was no way in hell he was going down without a fight. He grabbed a spear at his right and attempted to slide in front of Clarke, but then he saw her grab a weapon for herself. They exchanged a look, and Bellamy understood there was no way he could stop her now. _It’s not like he wanted to, anyway._

He looked back at the grounders. They were slowly approaching them, crouched over like common predators, and Bellamy prepared to pounce. But then a flapping sound surprised all of them, and Lincoln walked into the light.

“What’s going on?” Lincoln’s familiar voice murmured, and a flood of relief washed over Bellamy. He still gripped his weapon tightly, but released the tension in his body and exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

“There’s someone in here.” Maeve replied, lifting her spear to point in their direction. Colton nodded from behind her, and Lincoln’s head spun around. Bellamy hoped and prayed that Lincoln was still loyal to them, elsewise his previous relief was for nothing.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Clarke smile encouragingly, and though he knew it was meant for Lincoln, warmth spread throughout Bellamy’s body. Somehow, the optimism and fortitude he had been lacking found its way back into Bellamy’s person, and he straightened his back instinctively.

“There’s no one there.” Lincoln said in a tired voice. “There are rats all over this place, Maeve.” Bellamy’s lips quirked up into a smile.

“But --”

“Do you want me to tell Anya you’re afraid of rats? Would you like me to do that?” He was growing angry, and Bellamy almost laughed. The looks on the grounders’ faces were satisfying, but their quiet "no" and their ashamed gait as they exited the dropship was incomparable. As soon as their silhouettes disappeared behind the drape, Bellamy and Clarke jumped out from behind the spear rack. Bellamy was about to happily acknowledge Lincoln, but Clarke walked in front of him with a dangerous look on her face.

"Where have you been?" She demanded, getting so far in his face that he backed up towards the other end of the room. "We're starving up there." Clarke continued. "His sister hasn't eaten in so long, she nearly passed out." She looked at Bellamy with a solemn look, and his stomach fell. He had been surprised by her angered state, but once she mentioned Octavia the memory of her pale, translucent face sent a wave of anger through his body.

Lincoln was apparently just as upset, freezing in his spot and widening his eyes. "Octavia? Is she okay?"

Clarke rolled her eyes. Bellamy voiced her frustration for her. "She'd be a hell of a lot better if she had some food in her stomach. Where have you been?" With each word his volume increased and his urgency grew. He needed to get Octavia food, he needed to be by her side, and he was pretty sure he needed to punch Lincoln in the face. However, all he was going to get now was an explanation, so he silenced himself and crossed his arms over his chest.

Lincoln hesitated, but slowly began to speak once he saw the looks in Clarke and Bellamy’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I should've said something yesterday morning, or at least brought up an extra amount of food…” Bellamy heard how hard and regretful Lincoln’s voice was, but he had no sympathy. His sister was up there starving, and he had almost been speared by grounders. He wasn’t feeling very pitiful right now. Thankfully, Lincoln started up again quickly. “Anya, our leader, was noticing how much time I was spending in here. I have a sister, you know -- just like you. Her name’s Emma. I used to spend almost all my time with her, but once you came down, I barely spoke a word to her in a day. Anya and Emma are good friends, and nothing gets past either of them. The other day Anya confronted me and said that she might take a visit down here to see what the fuss was all about. That scared me enough to not come within a mile of the dropship.”

 _Coward_ , Bellamy thought. _Stupid, fraudulent coward_. He was about to scream at Lincoln when Clarke spoke up beside him. “So instead of feeding us, you send two of your armored friends to come and _shoot_ us? Thanks, Lincoln, very helpful. We appreciate it.” The sarcasm dripped off her tongue like poison, and Bellamy snorted. Clarke was nothing like the goody-girl princess he first suspected her to be. But then again, he had known that for a while now.

A panicked look fell on Lincoln's face. " _Shoot_ you? No, no no -- Maeve and Colton are my friends. I trust them with my life. I sent them here to get the metal arrow, with which I hid a note about... About your situation. I knew that they'd understand and find some food for you.”

That set Bellamy off. He didn't even try to contain his outrage anymore, and shoved Lincoln hard in the chest. He took hold of his collar and pushed him up against the far wall, his hands trembling with his tight grip. Of course Clarke protested, coming up from behind and trying to haul him away, but her pull was weak and it was obvious that she didn't really care whether or not Bellamy knocked the teeth out of Lincoln’s mouth. Lincoln attempted to fight back, lifting a knee to thrust into his stomach, but then Bellamy lunged his elbow into his throat, and while the grounder was distracted Bellamy curled his other fist into his jaw. Lincoln stumbled, and Bellamy swiftly grabbed a spear from the floor. He held the sharp end against Lincoln’s throat and paused, silently daring him to speak. He didn’t.

Bellamy took his laconism as an invitation to yell. “You think your friends would understand, huh? You think they'd feed us like we're their little children? You don't think they'd kill us, like they already killed dozens of our people? Cut the crap, Lincoln." He spat, pressing the spear deeper into his skin. Blood was sliding down Lincoln's jaw from when Bellamy had punched him, and dark bruises were already coloring his complexion. However, there were several inches of untouched skin that Bellamy was tempted to spoil. The only thing stopping him was the soft voice of Clarke from behind him.

"Get us food, Lincoln. Get us food, and don't screw up again. If you're too scared, then fine. We'll find a way to survive without you. But if you still want to repay the debt you owe us, then _do it_."

Lincoln's eyes were narrowed and his jaw was locked, but a visible wave of understand passed over him. He pushed Bellamy off of him and knocked the spear away. Then he straightened his back and nodded. “Fine. We hunted a gang of turkeys today. I’ll cook one and bring it back in an hour. In the mean time, don’t go snooping around down here. You're extremely lucky you escaped Maeve and Colton; they’re experienced warriors. Next time you might not be so fortunate.”

“As long as you don’t screw up again, there won’t have to be a next time.” Bellamy snapped, shooting a death glare his way. He had already turned his back on Lincoln and was beginning to head to the ladder, but the absence of a presence next to him made him halt. He sighed, half-turning to watch Clarke over his shoulder.

From only her profile, he clearly saw the regret lining her face. She had a somber frown as she watched Lincoln, and her lips were parted slightly. Bellamy felt an apology coming before she even spoke.

Clarke was unsurprising in that way; she was ruthless when she was angry and when people close to her were put in harm's way. She would go to then end of the earth to get what she wanted, and her determination was unlimited. However, she had a kind heart. If it was up to Clarke, the world would be nonviolent and peaceful, and she wouldn't have to demand so much from Lincoln. Bellamy knew that Clarke would rather sit back and draw, like he sometimes saw her do late at night, than attend to the battle wounds of her friends. Bellamy, though... he was a little different.

"We need you, Lincoln. We appreciate all that you've already done for us, but the worst is just beginning. Please... You can't abandon us now." Her tone was soft and apologetic, yet somehow authoritative. Clarke's mere presence demanded attention -- her words, though, required adherence. Bellamy felt himself bow his head in acceptance even though it was Lincoln she was speaking to.

From the other side of the room, Lincoln twisted around. He hesitated, looking at them ponderously, until he nodded once and exited the dropship. Once he disappeared behind the drape, Bellamy saw a content smile grow on Clarke's face.

She made her way to the spot next to him. Bellamy peered up, looking at her through loose strands of his hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair matted, and they way she slowly blinked made it clear that she was both physically and mentally exhausted. Clarke had been awake the whole time he was asleep and longer -- Bellamy wasn’t surprised by her condition, especially considering the stress of the past hour. "After you," He offered, gesturing up the ladder. Clarke gave him a look.

"Now you want me to go first, huh?" She challenged. Her eyebrows were raised, her mouth quirked in a half-smile, and Bellamy stubbornly denied the loitering thought of _damn, her eyes are really blue._

He paused for a short second, taking in her words. Then he laughed. "You don't want to go first, fine; I'll go first. My sister's waiting for me." Bellamy blocked her way up the ladder and took a step up before he felt Clarke's hands on his shoulders. She tore him off and he stumbled to the floor, probably exaggerating his fall a little too much. But he didn’t care, because Clarke was laughing, and Lincoln was coming back with food, and Octavia was going to be fine, and maybe they’d survive one more day on this planet.

* * *

The turkey Lincoln brought them was devoured in what seemed like seconds. Clarke ate, but only a little. She felt greedy taking so much for herself when she had eaten the last of the nuts and berries from their earlier supply. She gave what she didn't eat to some of the others (who accepted it gladly) and slowly made her way in the direction of her tent. She wanted to slip away from the group unnoticed, but it was hard when she was one of just 7 in their small, quiet room.

As soon as everyone finished eating, they gathered around in one of the corners of the room near the communications table. This seemed like a good opportunity for Clarke to make her exit, but of course everyone _had_ to remember what Clarke and Bellamy had done to get the food _now_ , at the most awkward and inconvenient time.

"Was Lincoln just _there_ when you guys got down?" Jasper asked, glancing at Clarke eagerly. He looked like a dog, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, begging for a treat. She sighed and looked over at Bellamy. He was sitting with Octavia, his head bowed low while she whispered something in his ear. The sight made Clarke smile internally. All Bellamy had wanted these past few days was the forgiveness of his sister, and it looked like he was finally getting it. But the downside to Bellamy’s newly-found absolution was that Clarke could no longer look to him to tell the story of their encounter. He was too fascinated with his sister to care.

Clarke chewed on her lip for a few seconds before she sat down, wiped the hair out of her face, and began the retelling. Everyone besides the Blake’s watched her with their full attention, taking in every word she said with great interest. At first she didn’t understand why they were so engrossed -- it was a boring and short story with an especially anticlimactic ending. But then she understood. These guys had been holed up in this metal prison for days now, almost a week; and while that wasn’t a huge span of time, every day felt like a year while they were quarantined in such a small space. Movement was limited, entertainment was rare, and they spent most hours of the day worrying whether or not they’d live to see the next morning through the circular glass window. Long story short: any news, exciting or not, would be well received by her friends. So she exaggerated some parts and made up others, just to keep the tale as long as possible.

She wasn’t surprised by the flood of questions that came her way after she finished. “Does Lincoln hate you now that you punched him in the face?” Monty asked. “Did the grounders hear us when they came up to the second level?” Questioned Finn nervously. “Did you find the metal arrow? Was there really a note in it?” “How did they not see you if you were only hiding behind a metal bar?” “Can we take some of the weapons they’re storing down there?”

The questions seemed to come all at once, each voice trying to overpower the others, and Clarke sat with her mouth gaping. She had no idea how to start, which question to answer first -- hell, she didn’t even know how to answer them. “Listen, I…” she started, but was cut off by a sharp whistle.

Bellamy stood up. He towered over the rest of them and an atmosphere of power surrounded him like a veil. The room hushed and lifted their eyes to look at him, and even Clarke found herself in awe of his authority. She had never truly seen him as a leader until now.

“Listen up. If it wasn’t for Clarke, we’d all be dead by now. So give her a break and ask your questions to the other guy.” It was a command, not a suggestion. So everyone turned to face him while he sat down, leaning forward so that he could hear their questions better. Seconds before Bellamy opened his mouth to answer the first inquiry, he lifted his eyes to look at Clarke. A small smile tugged at his lips. Then he proceeded to tell an in-depth account of how Clarke ‘punched Lincoln in the face.’

Clarke exhaled a happy sigh. She was relieved that she didn’t have to speak anymore since her voice was already croaky. She had quickly come to realize that being in charge was very hard on her throat.

This would've been a good moment to sneak away from the group and hide away back in her tent, but Clarke had a change of heart. Isolation wasn’t what she needed right now. She needed to be with her friends; the people she had been locked up with for almost a week. And yet, she somehow managed to avoid conversation with half of them all day. How could she expect these people to look up to her when she rarely showed them her face, or asked them how their day was? Being a leader was hard, and Clarke never asked for it - but regardless, it was a position she had now and she needed to own up to it.

Near the outskirts of the group, Octavia sat with her knees up to her chest. She was the only one who wasn’t paying attention to Bellamy. Instead, Clarke saw her tracing patterns on the floor with her fingers. Her face was concealed by the cover of her dark hair, but the skin on her barren arms was noticeably less pale than it had been earlier. The realization made Clarke smile, and she crawled over to sit with her.

Octavia looked up once Clarke plopped down next to her, and a smile appeared on her lips. “Hey, Clarke. Good story.”

Clarke exhaled a faint laugh and shook her head. “Half of it was a lie. I just felt bad. We’ve been locked up here for a while, trying to survive with limited communication with the Ark and little to no knowledge of what’s going on outside. Sitting up here for 12 hours a day doing virtually nothing is torturous. They needed that story, and all of its lies, to keep sane.” Clarke’s gaze drifted over to Raven, analyzing Bellamy’s words and furrowing her bows contemplatively. Then she saw Monty, a happy grin spreading from cheek to cheek on his face. Much like Jasper, he had a puppy-dog look about him, anxiously eager to hear Bellamy’s next answer.

“Yeah, I can understand that.” Octavia mumbled. “But I think I need more food to keep me sane, not stories.”

With pursed lips and an apologetic glance, Clarke looked at Octavia. “I’m sorry. Are you feeling any better?” When Lincoln came up with food, Octavia obviously had first dibs. But everyone else had been just as hungry, and Octavia didn’t get any special large portions just because she felt a little dizzy.

Octavia nodded. “I’m used to living on small servings. I’ll be fine.”

Clarke smiled, lifting a hand to rub Octavia’s shoulder comfortingly. The younger girl tensed under her touch, but slowly eased back into a comfortable stature. Octavia smiled gratefully, and Clarke had barely nodded in return when a booming voice filled the level, shifting everyone’s attention to the rising figure in the center of the room.

“Alright, everyone! I have a proposition.” Jasper bellowed, spinning around in his spot so that he could look at everyone. Clarke dropped her hand from Octavia’s shoulder. Apparently Bellamy was done answering questions. She looked up at Jasper, then down to everyone else, hoping to gain some understanding of what Jasper was going on about. However, they seemed just as perplexed as her. Raven muttered a low _oh, here we go_ under her breath and dropped her face into her hands. Bellamy’s knitted his brows, rested his elbows on his knees, and raised a hand to rub his stubbly chin. Even Monty, Jasper’s greatest friend in the whole universe, looked a little skeptical. When Clarke turned her attention back to Jasper she saw him observing the crowd for their reactions. Before they could doubt him any more, he piped up.

“We all know that today has been really, really crappy. In fact, our whole time in this metal madhouse has been nothing but gloomy. Obviously, we’re under really… unaccommodating circumstances, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a little fun once in a while, right?” Every move Jasper made was light and easy. He often talked with his hands, and when he wasn’t making gestures he ran his palms up and down his forearms. His voice cracked occasionally, but that didn’t phase him - in fact, it looked to Clarke like he didn’t even notice. While he paused, he shoved his hands into his pockets and put on an excited, hopeful smile. Just looking at him was uplifting, and Clarke found herself wishing she could radiate hope the way Jasper did.

“And what’s your definition of fun, Jasper?” Finn asked. He had an easy smile on his lips and his arm around Raven’s shoulder, and Clarke could tell he wasn’t being at all condescending. He was amused by Jasper’s confidence and perhaps a little inspired -- and after a quick look at the others, Clarke realized by their expressions that they were opening up to him as well.

“Game night!” Jasper replied, like it was the most obvious thing. “When was the last time you guys played truth or dare, or never have I ever? Come on, it’s only 9 o’clock; the night’s still young!” A wave of laughter passed over everyone, and a panicked look grew on Jasper’s face. “Think of it like a bonding experience. Like, I know nothing about you people!” He insisted. Jasper’s eyes landed on Clarke, and his eyebrows raised. The look on his face said, _I just got the best idea in existence_. “Take Clarke for example! Clarke, I don’t even know your middle name.” He paused for effect and shook his head slowly. “Tragic.”

Clarke involuntarily snorted. “I’ll save you from your _intolerable_ curiosity, Jasper. It’s Abigail.” After her mother, who wanted Clarke to remember at all times that mommy loved her. The thought made her sad, and she forced a smile, shaking the memory from her mind.

Now Jasper looked desperate. He lowered his voice down till he was almost whispering, and his eyes scanned the floor. “C’mon, guys. We’ve gone through so much suffering. We’ve lost so many people. Don’t we deserve something good… together?”

The room fell silent. The amused looks on everyone’s faces died away. Clarke looked at her watch, ticking evenly, reflecting her face back at her. Jasper was right. They’d lost people on the ground as well as people on the Ark -- like her father. All because of silly conflicts and meaningless rules and several stupid, stupid situations that, reflecting on it now, all made Clarke think, _what was the point anyway_? What was the point of all the hate? When did building a society mean being ruthless? It was all so silly, that the notion of ‘having fun is a terrible thing’ was drilled into her mind. Is that what humanity was now, a bleak routine? Would Clarke spend the rest of her life thinking _oh, I already allowed myself too much enjoyment today. Any more would be irresponsible._

She opened her mouth to speak, but Octavia’s voice filled the room instead. “I agree with you, Jasper. It’s been far too long since I’ve done anything fun. In fact, I don’t think I’ve _ever_ done anything fun.” Then Octavia smiled, and Jasper smiled back at her, and the whole room seemed to smile and agree, and Clarke exhaled an inaudible sigh. She wasn’t wrong for being hopeful. Things would get better. And that process would start with a game night.

\----

Jasper reintroduced games that Clarke hadn’t played since she was 12. They started off with Would You Rather, and Clarke laughed the loudest when Monty asked Raven if she would rather sleep in the toilet tent or in the Blake’s tent. Raven’s response was, “The Blake’s tent, of course. They may be sassy and smelly, but only a blind person would deny their hotness. And I’m sure as hell not blind.” Finn punched Raven in the arm, Octavia flipped her hair over her shoulder, and Bellamy nodded in agreement. The rest of them laughed until they cried.

After a few rounds of that, they played the classic Truth or Dare. Several people took their pants off, a couple people had to kiss each other, but the most memorable dare was when Bellamy dared Finn to cut off two inches of his hair. The whole room gasped, and Finn froze up so bad Clarke thought he was actually going to chicken out. But that didn’t happen, however, and Raven ended up shortening Finn’s mane by two inches while Finn held back his sobs.

They played several other short games like Strip Poker and Finish The Sentence until it was almost midnight and they were on their last game. “The best for last,” Jasper announced -- “Spin the Bottle.”

It was very makeshift: they used a knife as a bottle, wrote down a rushed list of actions on Clarke’s drawing pad, and got the old die Lincoln brought them to decide the dealings. Then they got started. Raven had to kiss Clarke (which Clarke enjoyed a lot, surprisingly), Monty kissed Octavia on the cheek, Bellamy and Jasper held hands, Finn had to take his shirt off, and many, many other classic rounds took place. They probably went on for 45 minutes, until Clarke checked her watch and saw that it was almost 1 A.M.

“Holy crap, guys. The time. We should probably wrap this up.” She interjected in a slightly solemn voice. She wished they could go on -- but that would be _really_ irresponsible, and they’d have to pay for it eventually. Though there was some protest throughout the group, they eventually agreed and decided on one more round.

“Clarke, since you saved us from taking this far into the A.M., you should spin for the last round.” Jasper said, a wickedness in his tone that Clarke didn’t appreciate. There were varied mumbles of _yeah, Clarke_ and _make it good_ throughout the circle that made Clarke’s stomach twist, but she took a deep breath and reached out to spin anyway.

“Alright, alright…” She said, quieting them down before the pads of her fingers touched the knife. _Make it good_. Clarke flicked the handle and it spun, fast at first, then slower, and slower, until it landed on Monty… no, Jasper, no… Bellamy. It landed on Bellamy.

Nearly everyone cooed a childish _oooooh_ , and a blush warmed her skin. She looked up at Bellamy, and the same pinkish color tinted his complexion. They shared a glance, and he pursed his lips. “Roll the die, Princess.” He suggested, and looked down to where it rested on the floor.

“Yeah,” Clarke replied, remembering. “The die.” The others laughed, but she ignored them. She picked it up between her thumb and pointer finger, then let it roll down so it rested in her palm. She shook gently, begging to whatever god was listening for a hug, or maybe a kiss on the cheek. Clarke liked Bellamy, but for whatever reason the thought of kissing him made her uneasy. _Anything but kiss…_

She released the die, and it fell to the ground. Six dots faced upward.

Six dots. Seven minutes in Heaven.

The group cheered. “Here, Clarke!” Raven boomed. “Give me your watch. I’ll make sure to keep the most accurate time _ever_.” She encouraged, speaking between laughs. She hit Finn in the stomach playfully, and Finn laughed along with her. On the other side of the circle, Octavia had gotten up and was rubbing Bellamy’s muscles as if he was a wrestler about to enter the ring.

“You got this, bud!” Monty roared, clapping Bellamy on the back. “You were good enough when you kissed me! You’ll do fine with her, too!”

For the first time since she rolled the die, she met Bellamy’s eyes. He looked nervous as hell, and Clarke was glad the feeling was mutual. She had hoped for anything but kiss, and technically, she got her wish -- but she'd unfortunately never considered seven minutes in heaven, which was undoubtedly the worst option. Hesitantly, she unclipped her watch and tossed it to Raven. Then she pushed herself off the floor and slowly got to her feet. _It’s just seven minutes. I can do this_. Bellamy stood as well, lazily pushing a laughing Octavia away and wiping imaginary dust off his pants. He tried smiling at her and she tried smiling back, but there was no comfort in either of them.

“Go get it, guys!” Jasper hollered, pushing Clarke from behind. She stumbled and fell into Bellamy arms, and the hooting from behind them grew louder. “And make sure you actually _do_ stuff too, don’t be babies! ...Don’t make babies either!” Jasper added.

“Your tent?” Bellamy suggested, and they trudged over to where Clarke slept at night.

They ducked under the covers and Clarke quickly sat on her bed. Bellamy took a little longer to sit down, taking in his surroundings. He looked at the sketches Clarke had decorated her room with, and the candles she kept in the corners (mostly for visual pleasure.) Clarke couldn’t quite tell, but it seemed like he approved.

He stepped further inside and lowered himself to his knees. Clarke drowned out the outside noise, listening only to the scuffle Bellamy made as he adjusted his position. Then his voice filled her ears. “I like what you’ve done with the place.” He commented, his voice light and affectionate.

Clarke laughed. She didn’t look up, though, focusing instead on the pattern the wrinkles of her blanket made. It was crazy to think that only that afternoon, she had snuck down to the bottom level with Bellamy and narrowly avoided her death. She remembered it clearly; he held her to his chest, his hands gripping her shoulders like he was holding on for dear life. He breathed shallow air into her ears, and he shivered like he was hugging an ice cube. Clarke found herself wondering if she would rather be in that situation than the one she was in right now.

Bellamy moved to sit next to her. Their arms brushed slightly, but they both ignored it. Bellamy lowered his head, speaking in a quiet whisper; “We don’t have to do anything, you know.”

Clarke nodded. “I know.” She replied, and somehow, that was enough. She laid back and her hair sprawled out beneath her. She watched the ceiling of her tent and allowed her eyes to flutter slightly. After a few moments, Bellamy laid back next to her. Clarke tried to imagine she was watching the stars.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos', comments, bookmarks, anything and everything - it's all appreciated! I hope you enjoy!


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